


Gamora's Third Pair This Week

by fappy



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types
Genre: Gamora loved the Saw movies, Gen, GotG Kink Meme, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 20:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4578795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fappy/pseuds/fappy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For prompt: The Guardians are captured and their captor wants information out of them. So they decide to torture Gamora in front of them, reasoning that since she's female she'll be weaker and/or compel the rest of the Guardians to talk so as to spare her. The only problem? Gamora was tortured since childhood by Thanos, so she not only withstands the torture, but quickly becomes bored and starts giving her torturer pointers!<br/>*<br/>“Ooooh, that's messy.” Rocket sounded sympathetic, and Gamora appreciated his concern. Getting the sewage smell out of her clothes would be hard enough without the added blood-and-viscera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gamora's Third Pair This Week

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt link: http://guardian-kink.livejournal.com/2727.html?thread=1621927#t1621927  
> -Bonus points for her suggestions squicking out her captor who stammers out, "What kind of diseased mind comes up with these things?!" and Gamora answering, "Are you joking? Those were just warmups!"

Gamora woke to sound of fierce muttering and the dank stench of sewage.

_Stupid!_ She berated herself at being caught in such an amateur manner.

The Guardians as a whole would probably never live it down.

They had been finalising some purchases in the cramped back room of Darator's only (somewhat) legal parts reseller when a gas cannister smashed through the grimy glass window. Rocket and Quill had dropped on the first inhale, Quill's face turning a concerning shade of purple. Drax's enraged roar had been cut short by some equally worrisome coughing, and the fatigue of Quill's 'mandatory viewing' of some inane Terran fictional recordings (Star... Trick?) had slowed her reflexes enough to be taken down by a well-timed injector dart in the confusion.

Her memory of the previous weeks blurred together in a mass of mildly offensive green-and-blue-painted Terrans but she had refused to fall asleep before Drax. The two of them sat in front of the data screen for what seemed like an infinite number of hours in squinty-eyed determination and frankly ridiculous competition. Eyeballs crusted and bodies shaking with weakness, Drax and Gamora had finally ended their contest after 600-odd hours with the now-accepted 'fistbump' of acknowledgement when the last- _final_ \- credits rolled (Quill, Rocket and the tiny potted Groot had, in the meantime, taken three missions without them.)

Keeping her breathing level and her body lax, Gamora surveyed her surroundings without opening her eyes. The ties binding her to thick metal rungs were very strong, and a discreet flex of her wrists confirmed that such a simple escape was out of her grasp. The smell and the unique dampness in the stone under the seat of her pants indicated the spaceport's sub-level sewerage tunnels. Hopefully the stickiness would come out in the wash. So. To the next step.

She opened her eyes without raising her head, to see the other Guardians in various permutations of chained-up-and-unconscious against the wall on her right. Quill's face had returned to the familiar soft pink, and they all appeared to be alive and relatively unhurt. She was the only one seated and tied next to a rolling-trolley of metal instruments, and couldn't help her eyeroll and sigh.

The muttering cut out abruptly. She raised her head and gave their captors her best 'dead-eyed killer' stare, the same one she gave Quill whenever he was foolish enough to try to take the last of Drax's special recipe sweet buns. It was obvious who would win in a fight to the death, and Drax's buns were a worthy prize (informing Quill of this had lead to uncontrolled high-pitched giggle-snorting that Gamora eventually dismissed as yet another odd quirk of Quill's distorted mind).

Sadly, the gaze was not as effective on the two enormous Daratorians. She thought perhaps this was because she didn't really know exactly which set of their collective eighteen eyes she was meant to glare daggers at. The larger of the two Daratorians grunted and pointed a thick paw at the unconscious Guardians, and the smaller obligingly began smacking Drax in the face. The larger spat in crude Basic at Gamora, “You will tell how to get to the stone.” It began to sort the metal instruments in what Gamora supposed was meant to be a menacing manner.

“Mmm.” She intoned. _Unlikely._ How very embarrassing. They weren't even looking for especially interesting information. Surely successfully capturing almost the entire set of The Guardians of the Galaxy- she still cringed slightly at the sheer _tackiness_ of the title- was worth a little bit more than a how-to on Xandarian vaults. Perhaps Quill's inflated ego had rubbed off on Gamora, but she distinctly remembered generating the kind of fame needed for the selling of little Guardian dolls to children as far out as the Rim planets. The spread of merchandising was usually a pretty good indicator of how much people hated (or very rarely, liked) something.

They were at least minor anti-celebrities in their own right, she was certain. Memorable. Fearsome. In Drax's case, occasionally drooling and unresponsive to repeated face-slapping.

The smaller Daratorian gave up on the still-unconscious Drax with a disgusted snort and smacked Quill instead. Quill was surprisingly delicate, Gamora had noticed, and without his protective helmet the Daratorian's blow broke some of the blood vessels in the Terran's nose, spraying red sideways onto Rocket's face and open mouth- waking the both of them. Quill's nasally “-ngha! What the hell, man!?” was undercut by Rocket's horrified spitting, “ -fucking -disgusting! Quill! The fuck kind of _diseases_ did I just _ingest-_ ” before the Daratorian grabbed them by the neck, choking them both into (relative) silence.

“Now!” Large Daratorian (as Gamora had now titled it) twirled a metal rod in its meaty paw before pressing the blade lightly against the thick cartilage ridge on the back of its other paw. She resisted the urge to mention that holding it like that would dull the laser-sharpened edge. Poor blade care was so tiresome.

“You will tell what I want! Or!” Large Daratorian paused for what Gamora assumed was dramatic effect, or perhaps just to think carefully of the vocabulary it needed for the next sentence. “Or!” it said again, and there was a beat of silence. Definitely a vocabulary issue. 

“Or you will scream! As your little friends tell!” A broad sweep of its paw in the general direction of the other Guardians was probably meant to draw her eye to Quill's slowly-purpling face but instead just drew her attention to the Daratorian's lax grip on the metal blade.

Rocket's breathless little snicker seemed to surprise Small Daratorian, and its grip loosened on both their necks. Quill shared a look with Rocket and rolled his eyes, even as he gasped for breath.

“Riiiiiiiiight, good luck with that!” Rocket chirped gleefully before he looked to Gamora. “How long we been down here, 'Mora?”

She rolled her eyes at the nickname. Eye rolling seemed to be the group response to this entire situation. “I am unsure. An hour, perhaps?” The sticky wetness hadn’t permeated all the way through her pants yet. There was still time to salvage them.

Rocket opened his mouth to respond, but Large Daratorian cut him off with a roar, though it was in Gamora's face that it shouted. “Silence! Your woman will suffer! Then scream!” Gamora's lip curled. The true suffering would be prolonged exposure to its breath. She dutifully kept her mouth shut, more for fear of flying spittle than obedience. 

Rocket had no such fear, especially now Small Daratorian had only a half-hearted grip on his neck. “You get right on that, bud.” He sniggered, twisting in his bindings. “Torturing Gamora, daughter of Thanos. With a lil' scalpel.”

The two Daratorians exchanged looks between themselves, eighteen eyes blinking in rapid succession. Was there a coded pattern to the blinking, Gamora wondered, or was it more of an emotive response system? The lipless line of their mouths didn't lend much expression to their flat faces. Maybe it was all in the eyes. 

Large Daratorian abruptly yanked her head back by her hair, blade coming to rest against her cheek. “You feel pain!” it hissed, curling the blade in a swirling pattern, splitting the skin along the side of her face. The edge flicked out at the end of a curve, pulling a triangular section of skin away with a muted rush of blood, most of the vessels stripped to make room for bionic enhancement underneath.

_True_ , she thought. She did feel pain. Thanos believed it was very important to understand the sensations that you were inflicting upon others. Every excruciating second of thousands of hours of pain, she understood intimately.

Large Daratorian continued to draw patterns on her face, but seemed disappointed. By the lack of reaction, or the lack of blood, she was unsure.

“Wow,” Quill's voice was rough from choking and pitched strangely through his bloody nose. “That's weak, even for me.”

She was glad it wasn't him in this seat. His strength was in sharing, not suffering. Perhaps that wasn't entirely accurate though, she mused, as Large Daratorian punched her in the face again and again, fists in a sloppy formation that did not deliver the maximum damage-for-damage-taken. Quill's cracked visage and blooded eyes as he held the infinity stone was an image that was burned into her mind.

He did well with very dramatic and occasional cosmic suffering, she decided. A black eye rendered him pained for days and wibbly for sympathy though.

How he survived the Ravagers was very much a mystery to her, unless the paternal gleam in Yondu's eye was much stronger than her past experience with him would indicate. The gleam of metal that flashed in her own eye before the blade tip made contact with the retina was much weaker than the first time she'd suffered a knife to the eye.

“Ooooh, that's messy.” Rocket sounded sympathetic, and Gamora appreciated his concern. Getting the sewage smell out of her clothes would be hard enough without the added blood-and-viscera. 

Large Daratorian let out a shriek of what she presumed was frustration. Or maybe it had stabbed itself accidentally. Her good eye was blurry with blood from the wounds on her forehead, so she couldn't really tell. The Daratorians were rapid firing back-and-forth in their guttural language, sounding confused and angry. 

“Traditionally,” she said flatly, and the rat-a-tat-tat of their voices paused to listen- “You start with fingernails.”

“Really!?” Quill sounded intrigued. “Like in the movies?” She didn't really know. Star Trick hadn't featured much fingernail-pulling. Just a lot of thinly veiled flirting in the form of bickering and over-exaggerated falling around.

“And then,” she continued, “You crush the fingertips.” She seemed to have their rapt attention, which was excellent, because from what she could see with what was left of her vision, Drax was very slowly coming to. Perhaps this embarrassing misadventure would be over soon.

“Break the little bones,” she said, “And then cut them off, one by one.”

Large Daratorian seemed to be getting angry again, snatching up a set of pliers from the trolley.

“The face you generally leave for a while, so that loved ones can see the agony clearly.”

It grabbed her hair roughly again. Perhaps Nebula had the right idea- Gamora's long hair did seem to shout “grab me” at all times.

“Turn the hands palm up so that the arms are twisted, then nail down the hands. Use the wedge to spread the bones in the forearms-” Her head was shaken roughly, Large Daratorian muttering in their language and waving the pliers, but in a sort of bewildered manner. 

Small Daratorian interrupted in far better Basic than its larger counterpart, the corners of its lipless mouth downturned and pale. “What kind of diseased mind comes up with these things?”

Gamora was offended. Rocket burst out laughing, probably at the expression on what was left of her face, a high-pitched incredulous cackle.

“Are you joking?” she cried. She was using their bare minimum of tools to come up with some very basic techniques. The kinds of things that would make Quill cry. The low-brow rudimentary sewage-and-chains kind of torturing they seemed to be trying to enact. “Those are just the warm-ups!” 

_Diseased mind_ indeed. How little these many-eyed piles of meat knew of the intricacies of true torture! Of the brutal and endless pains that could be inflicted without the kind of reprieve that blood-loss and shock could provide!

*

Drax's methods were perhaps less brutal, but no less effective in their purpose. Large Daratorian put up something of a fight, but even the size difference and the (ineffectual, Gamora noted) grip on the pliers wasn't much of defence. She supposed there was a reason they had gassed the room instead of fighting fairly. Nine eyes made a large target regardless of muscle mass.

“Friend Gamora, I took one eye from each for your loss.” Drax was very considerate at times. She tugged the blade out of her own eye, wiping her hands on her pants, which she resigned herself to burning once they were topside. _Another pair._

Rocket was talking rapid-fire into his communicator to a concerned Groot as they made their way upwards, and Quill made a gagging sound behind her, wet through his busted nose.

“ _Yeeesh_ \- Drax- I get the whole ' _eye-for-an-eye_ ' thing, its great, it really is, but- put them down! Like- what the hell is she gunna _do_ with them, keep 'em in a jar?”

She just might.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Next time they watch Star Wars, and Peter attempts to convince them that his father was also a Jedi. Rocket tests Peter's ability to deflect blaster fire using the Force and secretly builds a lightsaber. Drax likes Yoda. Gamora loves the new series. Groot gets down with the Ewoks.


End file.
